


When The Improbable Is True

by FandomNutter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Human Sherlock, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Monsters, Protective Lestrade, Slash, Vampire John, Werewolf Lestrade, Werewolf!Lestrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:15:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3873547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomNutter/pseuds/FandomNutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As you can tell even though I have kept quite a few scenes from the show the plot is not exactly the same. I have http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/28352.html to thank for their very helpful transcript. The rest of the chapters will be a lot more original.</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. A Not So Sweet Dream

John Watson heard gunfire and twitched in his sleep. A voice was calling his name. “John! We have a man down!” He turned towards it peering through the dusty air and felt some one tackle him. Dazed, John tried to make sense of what was happening. When his eyes got back into focus he saw a man above him raising a rough cut wooden stake.

“Perkins, what the hell are you doing?” Another soldier shouted.

The man on top of John replied, “Back up, he is a monster. I am doing the whole damn squad a favor.”

John wriggled and hissed, his arms trapped to his sides between the man’s thighs. Perkins brought the stake down as another soldier lunged at him. The wood missed his heart and plunged deep into his shoulder.

The vampire let out a roar of pain as a man shouted, “You hurt the bloody doctor!”

John jerked awake from the nightmare fangs bared and breathing heavy. He was curled in the fetal position clutching his shoulder. Blinking and panting he got up from his ‘bed,’ a wooden crate covered with an old blanket. John leaned against a rickety wall to steady himself and put his head in his hands.

It was too real. He listened to the gentle sounds of the water rushing past the boathouse. Slowly his fangs retracted.

The nightmares were getting worse, he needed to feed.

 

John crept through the halls of Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital. It had not changed much since he had worked there, and he could smell the morgue. He patiently stood outside of the room pretending to check his phone. A few women in lab coats exited and he slipped through the closing door.

He only had a few minutes. John hurried past a body lain out on a table. It was covered in bruises and did not smell particularly appealing. He walked around to the cold chambers and looked threw them until he found one he liked.

 

He was so concentrated on feeding that he did not notice as some one entered behind him. “John? John Watson?”

John dropped the corpse and spun around to see a familiar face. He let out a sigh of relief, “Mike.”

“What brings you back to London with all the free meals in Afghanistan?” Mike asked closing the door.

“I got hurt, first time in three hundred years. I forgot how many hunters are in the forces.”

Mike nodded, “How long have you been back?”

“About a month, this is is my first meal since.”

The other man’s eyes flicked over him, “I thought you looked peaky.”

John shrugged, “It is hard to get in here and I am not just going to start attacking people.” He sighed, “I am squatting in a boathouse a few miles down the Thames. No were else to go.” He began feeding again.

“You could get a flat share.”

John raised his eyebrows. Humans hated monsters. Plus, he happened to be one of the monsters hated by other monsters.

As if reading his mind Mike said, “Don’t worry, I know some one who will never figure it out.”

 

John followed Mike though the halls to an unfamiliar section of the hospital. The forensics wing must have been put up or remodeled after John’s time. He looked in the windows as they walked and marveled at the technology inside. It felt like only yesterday Gregor Mendel was raving about peas, and now it seemed every room had a gel electrophoresis chamber.

They entered a lab that was empty except for a man at a microscope. A quick sniff told John he was human. Well humans are good, they are easier to fool than-

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

 

John stood deadly still clutching his cane. The man seemed to know everything about him. He acted polite until this “Sherlock Holmes” left the room, then rounded on Mike.

“He will never figure it out?!” John asked angrily, masking his disappointment.

“What? Did he even mention anything abnormal about you?” John looked unconvinced and Mike continued, “He has known me for five years and never realized I wasn’t human, let alone a cupid.”

“Wait, you are a cupid?”


	2. Detective Inspector Lycanthrope

John Watson was in a cab on his way to 221b clutching hand warmers. Even though he had blood flow and a pumping heart he was always deathly cold. The cab pulled up to the curb and he stepped out and walked to the door. Just as he was about to knock he heard the detective’s voice behind him.

“Ah, Mr. Holmes.” He said turning and holding out a hopefully warm hand.

“Sherlock, please.” requested the other man shaking it.

Too old fashioned. John sighed and followed him into the house.

 

John was surprised by how much Sherlock loved murder. Humans usually feared death and mortality, but this one seemed to embrace it, even adore it. The elegant man was pacing around energetically recounting the details of a potential murder spree, and with each word the scents of dopamine and serotonin grew stronger.

Suddenly the vampire smelt something that distracted from Sherlock’s speech. There was something discretely non-human climbing up the stairs. He hastily put his barrier up, masked his sent so the intruder would not notice him. Unfortunately this block worked both ways and he could not tell what the man was. The creature left and Sherlock followed.

The detective reappeared in the doorway seconds later. “You're a doctor. In fact you're an army doctor.”

“Yes.”

“Any good?”

John though of the lives he had saved throughout the centuries, “Very good.”

“Seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths.” Sherlock asked walking closer.

“Well, yes.” This was something John did not enjoy remembering. Deaths did mean a meal, but he liked to think he valued humans more than that.

“Bit of trouble too I bet.”

“Of course. Yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.”

Sherlock had reached him and had a sightly mad gleam in his eyes, “Wanna see some more?”

The chemical rush going through the detective's veins smelled intoxicating. “Oh god yes.”

 

They got out of a cab and headed towards an old house surrounded by police tape and blinking lights. Sherlock lead the way into the house and John was caught off guard.

“Who's this?” a DI asked, looking at John with cool grey eyes.

“He is with me.” Sherlock said quickly.

John sized up the DI. It was the creature who had entered his flat earlier. He knew neither of them would blow their cover in a house surrounded by humans, but from his body language he could see the man trying to claim protective possession over Sherlock. John shrugged, he did not want him anyway.

 

The hound followed John and Sherlock up the stairs to a room where a corpse lay. “Five minutes.” he said, hesitating before shutting the door and leaving Sherlock with the vampire.

“What do you think?” Sherlock asked, his eyes gleaming excitedly.

Poison, it stung John’s nose, even blocked out the stench of dog. But he needed to keep up the act, he could not guess so soon. “Ah, asphyxiation.”

The hound reentered and John could feel him staring him down. According to legend Hounds of God had the divine ability to see the purity of one’s soul and for that reason were trusted for justice. He had heard that they were not very bright.

“Got anything?” the hound asked after a second.

“Not much.” Sherlock replied.

 

John was slowly making his way down the stairs and when he heard a creak behind him. “I am not going to harm Sherlock.” He said before turning.

“I did not know your kind lacked souls,” The lighting was making the DI’s shadow into a monstrous wolf. “I can not tell if you are lying to me.”

“It is one of the reasons everyone hates us. But you can trust me.” John replied, gripping his cane a little harder. Deciding the conversation was over he continued his way down stairs aware that the hound was unashamedly staring at his limp.

 

They were staking out a killer in a Italian restaurant. With a candle on their table. And food. John was not sure it could get more uncomfortable. He reluctantly took a bite of pasta, carefully avoiding the garlic covered Parmesan. It was tasteless. He was not even sure he could digest it. Their conversation had died a minute earlier and he did not have an excuse not to eat.

Without warning his new flat mate rose from his seat and rushed out the door. John hesitated for a fraction of a second before getting up to follow him. He burst out of the restaurant in time to see Sherlock run in front of a car. Shocked by the detective's apparent lack of concern for his own safety John jogged behind Sherlock.

They were perusing a suspect, but the thrill of the chase was lessened slightly with worry for the detective. The man was wild with excitement and reckless, John thought to himself as he hurried up a tight spiral stair case. He limped onto the roof only to see Sherlock jump to the next.

John stopped at the edge of the roof and looked down, he had not gone roof jumping since Harry and he had been newly changed. He knew he could survive the fall, but he would rather not...

“Come on we are loosing him!”

 

They arrived home and John was surprised to see his cane leaning against the door. He must of left it in the restaurant. He always kept the enchanted weapon with him, it was a physiological crutch as much as it was physical. For a long time it had been a pocket watch, then a gun, and now this cane. He glanced at Sherlock, he must really trust him to abandoned it.

As Sherlock and John made their way up to their flat the smell of dog surrounded them. They entered to find Lestrade lounging in John’s chair, purposely infringing on the vampire’s territory.

Sherlock looked around at the people searching his flat and angrily said, “You can’t just break into my flat.”

“I didn’t break into your flat.” The DI replied watching John for his reaction.

“What do you call this then?” Sherlock demanded.

Lestrade shrugged, “It’s a drugs bust.”

John was thrown for a second and frowned, “Seriously? This guy, a junkie? Have you met him?”

“John...” Sherlock said quietly.

“I’m pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn’t find anything you could call recreational.”

“John, you probably want to shut up now.” The detective hissed.

“Yeah, but come on...” Sherlock was giving him a look and John whispered, “No.”

“What?”

“You?” Humans with drugs in their systems could sicken vampires, clearly Lestrade though all John saw in Sherlock was lunch.

“Shut up!” Sherlock snapped

“You could help us properly and I’ll stand them down.” Lestrade said serenely.

Every time he spoke the hound gave John a meaningful look. He was either trying to make John leave Sherlock or threaten him by saying he could enter his flat whenever he wanted, and John was not happy about it. Wither he was just worried about Sherlock or not it was disrespectful to trespass in a vampire’s house.

A hundred years ago it would have meant a fight to the death. Now it was a legal issue. John chuckled darkly to himself, it was monsters like these that made John miss the old days.


	3. Of Monsters and Detectives

A box arrived at 221b and John hurried down to get it. He carried it, hands shaking, to the kitchen. He shuffled through it until he pulled out a bag of blood and plunged his fangs into it greedily. Sherlock often ordered organs and John had volunteered to do it for him. Now he had fresh healthy blood for the first time in a long time. He put down the empty bag and put the organs away before grabbing a second one.

He was growing fond of the human, he mused. He had taken up a personal oath to protect the detective, but nothing more. Humans died so quickly, so easily.

Despite this casual relationship some of his scent lingered on the detective. It annoyed the hound. It was quite amusing to watch the DI try to stand close to the detective at crime scenes only for Sherlock to move closer to him.

Mike had asked if he had claimed Sherlock. Claimed Sherlock Holmes, John laughed to himself. It was because of that run in with a siren, he was sure. He felt a momentary thrill of aggression remembering Irene Adler. She had tried to charm his friend away from him. He remembered the jealousy, no, that sounded life he did like Sherlock.

As if he could choose one mortal over another. As a cupid, monster of love, Mike should have realized.

 

Sherlock was uneasy and bored, a bad combination for the detective. He was not interested in any of the cases Lestrade had for him even with the variety. There were ones with robberies, abductions, murders, and even one about a lost pet. John did not love being around the suspicious hound, but he would prefer a case with the over protective DI to this. The door bell rang and Sherlock looked up excitedly, “Client.”

The detective disappeared to answer the door and returned leading a man who  
introduced himself as Henry Knight. John immediately smelled the linger sent of cigarets on him, something he was sure Sherlock would mention eventually. The thing about having a vampire sense of smell was that he could pick up on stuff before the genius detective.

The client seemed unable to explain his situation and instead handed them a VCR tape. As they watched John’s frown grew deeper. There were always legends and tales, but not all of them were actually supernatural. Henry, however, seemed convinced there was a monster in Dartmoor.

If there was a creature killing people it was his responsibility to take care of it before hunters got wind of it. Sherlock, on the other hand, did not seem very keen to go. The disbelief that gave John the security to live with the detective was working against him.

In desperation John got up and walked to the mantel, revealing the cigarets he had hidden under the skull earlier.

“I don’t need those any more. I’m going to Dartmoor.”

 

When they arrived in the village there was a teen offering to lead monster tours. John walked past him into the pub to get a room and was hit my the sent of raw meat. It was not anything suspicious, it was beef, but he was sure the sign outside said it was a vegetarian restaurant.

He reluctantly chatted with the talkative bar men and one mentioned that monster hunters turned up every once and a wile. John glanced at the people around him, nervously looking for an indication that they were hunters. There were only a few old ladies and a couple with young children, so John figured he was safe.

Stuffing his change into his pocket the vampire walked out to find the kid talking to Sherlock. Before he could enter the conversation the detective abruptly turned to him, “Bet’s off John, sorry.”

“What?” John asked confused.

Sherlock’s comment seemed to spark the kid's interest, “Bet?”

“My plan needs darkness,” Sherlock continued ignoring the teen, “Reckon we’ve got another half hour of light.”

The kid leaned closer to them and eagerly inquired, “Wait, what bet?”

The detective turned back to him and nonchalantly replied, “Oh, I bet John here fifty quid that you couldn’t prove you’d seen the hound.”

Realizing what his friend was up to John piped up, “Yeah, the guys in the pub said you could.” He listened to the back and forth between the teen and the detective with interest and was overcome with relief that Sherlock was finally showing real interest in the case.

 

“You have got a card for Baskerville?”

“It is my brother’s”

John let out a hollow laugh. He was already nervous about going into an army base that potentially imprisoned magical beings, and the though of being caught with a false ID did not help. Any way, how could Sherlock’s brother have a pass for a high security army base? He had never met the man, but his flat mate frequently complained about him.

At the security gate one of the German shepherd's tilted its head and eyed John. He usually did not mind that animals could tell he was not human, but this was not exactly a good time. It’s handler pulled on its leash and to  John’s relief it stopped.

 

He managed to get into army mode once they got out of the van, and it got them through doors. On the elevator down he was tense, expecting for security to appear at any moment and drag him off.

They walked briskly throughout the halls, clearly the detective had a plan. Suddenly he stopped to talk to a woman in one of the labs. When Sherlock asked her about Bluebell John groaned inwardly. Had Sherlock had them break into this base because of a case he had scorned earlier?

Fuming John hurried after Sherlock as they rushed to get out of the base. They passed covered and uncovered cages. The vampire halted suddenly and turned to one that was covered. Pretending to tie his shoe John knelt down and sniffed. It was not a hound, but it was not human either. He heard a faint squelch and realized what it was. A kappa.

So Baskerville did know of magic. Kappas were always malevolent, so he did not feel too bad leaving it. He straighten up and followed Sherlock.

 

Sherlock was determined to find out what was actually going on. Now the vampire was wandering through a dark moor alone trying to find his way back to the detective and Henry. As he walked John concentrated on the scents around him, but could not smell anything. Well he could smell the earth and decomposing leaves, but no hound. If there was a monster, it was not caporal.

Suddenly Sherlock stumbled past him followed by Henry, quickly making his way back to the inn claiming he did not see anything.

 

After taking Henry home John found Sherlock sitting by the fireplace. He stunk of chemicals, so John tried to discuss the case to distract him.

“I saw it too.” Sherlock said shaking.

“You saw what?” John asked nervously.

“The hound, John.” Sherlock said. He was a wreak, his face contorting with misery and fear.

It was too much for the detective’s logical mind the vampire realized. Wanting to calm Sherlock down John said, “Look, Sherlock, we have to be rational about this, okay? Now you, of all people....lets just stick to the facts yes?”

This tactic did not seem to work because a second later Sherlock let out a mad laugh, “Look at me, I’m afraid, John. Afraid.” Shaking he picked up his glass, “Always been able to keep myself distant, divorce myself from feelings. But my body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions.”

“Yeah, alright Spock, take it easy.” Sherlock was shaking so badly half of John wanted to bite him just to release the relaxing chemical in his fangs, but he knew it would only make his situation worse. Instead he tried to reason, “You’ve been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you’ve just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up.”

He realized it had been the wrong thing to say the second it left his mouth. Sherlock gave him a poisonous look and muttered, “Worked up?”

“It was dark and scary...”

“Me? There is nothing wrong with me.” The detective muttered.

“Sherlo-”

“There is nothing wrong with me!” Sherlock roared, his eyes full of anger, confusion, and fear.

John recoiled slightly and took a shuddering breath. He had never expected such an extreme reaction from Sherlock, his friend. He dreaded what would happen if Sherlock found out about him.

 

Sherlock was apologizing for his behavior. That was certainly unexpected, but John was glad they were on speaking terms again. They were walking back to the pub and John smelled Lestrade before he saw him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sherlock demanded when he noticed the DI and rushed over to him.

Lestrade grinned, “Well nice to see you too. I’m on holiday, would you believe?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Sherlock said stopping in front of him.

“Hullo, John.” The DI ignored Sherlock.

John nodded stiffly, “Greg.”

“I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? You after this Hound of Hell like on the telly?” The hellhound asked leaning against the counter.

“I’m waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?”

 

After Sherlock went up to their room John sat down next to Lestrade at the bar. There was an awkward silence, “I spent the night out on the moor.” the hound said quietly, “I did not see any thing or smell anything abnormal. A few dogs passed through there, but they were with their owners.” He took a swig of beer, “I saw Sherlock.”

“He saw you.” John said quietly.

Greg clutched his glass tighter, “How did he take it?”

“Not well.” John replied talking a sip from his own glass.

Lestrade sighed, “I try to protect that bastard and then I end up being the one to make it worse.” he downed the glass and stood up, “There is nothing here, just try and get him home as soon as you can. And get him on those abduction cases, they might interest you.”

 

Henry had gone down to the moor and attacked his therapist. Sherlock and John were speeding down the road in their jeep. John was tapping his foot nervously. When he had called Lestrade he had been a few miles away, and with out a car. That meant a Hound of God was bolting down the road somewhere. They needed him, but if he ran into a hunter along the way the whole mission would be jeopardized. Or if Henry saw him.... The vampire shook his head and tried to think of something else.

The jeep skidded to a halt and they jumped out. The detective and vampire stumbled down the ravine to where Henry stood talking to himself. Lestrade appeared a few seconds later, out of breath and sweating.

Every thing seemed under control, but suddenly there was a monster at the top of the ravine. Henry let out a cry of fear and Lestrade seemed unable to believe his eyes. Sherlock’s fear hit John like a title wave and John stepped in front of him, protecting him from the creature. He raised his gun, and let out a warning hiss. The monster snorted in response and charged.

A second later a Labrador lay dead on the leaves. “Look at it Henry!” Sherlock was convincing himself as much as Henry that monsters were not real. John glanced over at Lestrade, only to see the hound giving him a strange look.

 

The next day they were heading home. Sherlock walked down to the lobby with their bags as John did one final sweep of the room. Satisfied they had packed everything he locked the door and looked up to see Lestrade leaning against the wall. The man looked tired, and he had his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“I am really shitty at protecting him huh?” He said finally with a bitter laugh.

John was conflicted. All of the hound’s cockiness was gone, he seemed vulnerable. But he was not sure he could fully forgive their past interactions. “To be fair, Sherlock is not the easiest to protect.”

The DI nodded, “You seem more fit for the task,” he paused as if questing whether or not to continue, “You should have seen what I saw last night. It was incredible.” he lowered his voice, “Sherlock’s soul as always been hidden from me, but last night is was radiant. It seemed to latch on to you.”

“His soul touched me?” John asked dumbfounded and the hound shhhed him angrily.

“Careful. And yes, it did. On rare occasions this can occur between living mortals when they are seeking comfort. It is much more common among the dead according to Cerberus.”

“How did you talk to Cerberus?”

“He is my dad.”

“Oh.” John said quietly making a note to be nice to hell hounds he met in the future.

They stood in awkward silence until John turned and walked to the stairs. Lestrade followed him. The passed through the pub, waving farewell to the bar men.

The sun was warm on vampire’s back and he stood enjoying it for a minute, watching Sherlock arguing with a some one who had parked blocking their vehicle.

He sighed fondly and Lestrade stepped closer to him and whispered, “Did you claim him?”

“What?” John asked, his face suddenly glowing pink.

“You heard me,” the hound said smiling slightly.

John crossed his arms, “No, of course not. Why would even ask that, you would be able to tell.”

“No reason.” Lestrade said quickly, “See you in London.”

Before John could interrogate him further the man vanished and John heard the sound of paws running off. They got the power of invisibility, it was not fair, he only had it with mirrors, and that was just inconvenient. He tried to feel scornful but his mood was to good. Smiling he made his way over to calm the shouting detective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell even though I have kept quite a few scenes from the show the plot is not exactly the same. I have http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/28352.html to thank for their very helpful transcript. The rest of the chapters will be a lot more original.


	4. Unmasked

 

John was watching the news when his flat mate burst into the living room.  
“John we need to go undercover!” Sherlock said excitedly as he tossed a piece of paper to him.

John picked it up and read the invitation, “A masquerade ball? Are you serious?”

“Yes, the host has had two murders in his house.”

“Ummm,” John mumbled rubbing his neck where there were several faint scars. Sherlock was looking at him expectantly and John felt his argument die in his throat. He wanted to keep Sherlock from finding out he was a vampire, so telling him he could not go to a party because he was transformed at one was not an option.

 

They arrived at the hall and John shuddered. It looked like had it the night he had been bitten. “We don’t have dance partners.” He mumbled to Sherlock as he subconsciously turned up his already high collar.

“It is not so strange to see men dance together.” Sherlock replied as he scanned the dancers.

“Right.” John said smoothing a gloved thumb over his mask. All around him were masks made of plastic, but he had insisted that his be authentic. Sherlock had ordered both of theirs, and John did not even want to think about how expensive they were. He noticed Sherlock scrutinizing the wait staff and said, “Their outfits are wrong.”

“Yes, I imagine they were more conservative.”

The orchestra began to play and they walked onto the floor. John kept his eyes down and allowed Sherlock to guide him and see what he needed to see. After a while he shut his eyes, trusting Sherlock to lead him.

 

John had began to relax and enjoy himself. Against his will some words came back to him from that night, “some people can only preform when they are with the right counter part,” and he smiled knowing a blush was spreading across his face. A second later the music changed to a song he had not heard in centuries and some one bumped into him. He opened his eyes in surprise and they widened. Standing there was a man dressed like he had just walked out of the 1700s. His mask was authentic but showed no sighs of age. He bowed quickly and apologized in old french.

John’s pupils dilated. There were masks everywhere. He was trapped. The fanged men were here. They were going to get him, bite him. He should not have come, he had been warned. Now it was too late. They were going to bite-

Somewhere far away some one was calling his name. He looked up and saw Sherlock, “John, you are having a panic attack.”

Feeling dizzy and confused John blinked. He was in the 21st century. Sherlock was trying to hold him closer and he complied. He put his head against the taller man’s chest and inhaled his reassuringly human sent.

“Lets go.” Sherlock said quietly leading him out of the hall. The detective was walking at his usual swift pace and for a moment John panicked and though he would be left behind. He reached out and grabbed the detective’s hand, causing the other man to pause for a second before adjusting his pace.

Feeling slightly embarrassed John looked away from Sherlock. Snow was falling lightly onto the ground. The path they were taking to the taxi’s was clear of foot prints, and he glanced back at the ones he and Sherlock were making.

John felt Sherlock squeeze his hand and looked up to see they had reached a taxi. John reluctantly let go of his hand and climbed in. Sherlock slid in after him and rather than leaving a space between them sat right next to him. John took comfort in feeling the detective next to him.

 

John collapsed into his chair and Sherlock took out a bottle of wine. “I stole it from my brother so it is probably good.” He said as he filled two glasses and handed one to John.

“I am sorry about what happened in there.” John mumbled staring into his glass. “I hope you were able to get what you needed.”

Sherlock took a slow sip of wine, silhouetted by the snowy window. “I did.” Before walking out and returning with his violin.

“If it wasn’t for that man...” John said morosely into his glass.

Sherlock looked up from his instrument, “What man?”

“The man who bumped into us,” John said, and Sherlock frowned.

“No one bumped into us, John.” He said in a concerned voice.

“Never mind, I must have imagined it.” John sighed.

Sherlock looked at him for a second longer before he started playing softly. The music helped John focus, and he relaxed, his eyes drifting shut. They snapped open a moment later and found Sherlock sitting on the arm of his chair. As he played he slowly moved closer to John, his back leaning lower and lower. Eventually Sherlock's back was resting on John’s shoulder.

He stopped playing and said, “No one was murdered. There was nothing to investigate. I just did not know how else to ask you to the dance. And then I hurt you. I am sorry John.”

Sherlock’s body stiffened and John knew he was going to hop off the chair and walk off. He did not want him to go. John snaked an arm around Sherlock’s slim waist and shifted him onto his lap. He wrapped both arms around the detective and inhaled deeply, “I am okay.”

Sherlock twisted around to face John, “But I did not need to-” he stopped short when John kissed the tip of his nose. Sherlock had such a look of shock on his face John laughed.

Sherlock’s face cleared and he leaned over to kiss John and dropped his violin. The both instinctive dove after it, falling out of the chair. The violin sat safely in the detective’s out stretched hand, but the detective and vampire had not faired as well. Groaning they untangled themselves and sat on the floor.

They stared at each other for a second before smiling. “Can we try that again? Sherlock asked getting slowly to his feet.

John nodded, then realizing Sherlock could not see him said, “Sure.” Before getting in back into his chair.

Sherlock made a show of putting his violin on the table before heading towards John. As he walked closer a smile he was trying to conceal grew steadily larger. The vampire raised his eyebrows and Sherlock covered his face in his hands. John had never seen the man so flustered.

“Oh, screw this.” Sherlock muttered before sprinting to John and wrapping his arms around his neck. The detective some how managed curled up in John’s lap.

The detective was clearly inexperienced when it came to kissing, but it was not for lack of trying. John felt Sherlock’s lips frown against his. He must have felt the lumps of tissue that concealed his fangs.

“My wisdom teeth,” John said casually, “They are in under my gums and I am afraid to get them removed.”

Sherlock seemed to accept the explanation.

 

John woke with a groan. He was cramped in his chair under Sherlock and had a severe headache. He glared blearily at the glass next to him. Due to his species he could get drunk and consequently hungover from a sip of wine, and the glass was empty. He lifted Sherlock off him and carefully arranged him on the chair. He smiled briefly looking at the detective, who had a bruise on one of his sharp cheekbones. Sherlock must have gotten it from the fall.

He needed to feed, that would help with the hangover. He never left blood bags in the fridge for fear of Sherlock finding them, so he decided to make a trip to Bart’s. He planted a soft kiss on Sherlock’s bruised cheek before he left.

 

Once he had fed he felt considerably better. During the cab ride home he thought about the night before. He was falling for a mortal. It went against everything he had been taught and his better judgement, but he could not deny it now.

He tossed the cabbie a few crumpled bills and stepped onto the side walk. He should take Sherlock out to lunch. He was so distracted that he did not notice anything strange about the front door being open. Or the extra tracks in the snow. Or the dent in the lock. Or the strong unfamiliar scents coming from his flat.

He did notice when he heard a hash voice command, “He is the vamp, just kill him.”

 

John burst into the flat to find a wide eyed Sherlock corned by two armed men. They turned as he entered and one shouted, “Get back, he is a monster.”

John’s face twisted into a furious smile. They were hunters by the looks of it, but luckily for him they clearly were amateurs. “He is not a monster, he is a famous detective. Monsters are not real.”

The other man, who had an elaborate tattoo sleeve of horror movie monsters, sighed, “They are, now would you just let us do our jobs?”

John advanced toward them, “What? Just let you kill my friend? What makes you think he is a monster.”

“We got a report from a reliable source that a vampire lived in 221b Baker Street.” the inked man replied.

John stopped walking a few feet from them, “I live here.”

“Yeah but come on, look at this guy. Tall, thin, pale, dressed in all back. He even mail orders blood.” The other man burst out incredulously.

“I have not.” Sherlock interjected and they raised their weapons again.

“Now those are valid points,” John agreed, “but one very important thing is missing from your list.” He bared his fangs and the hunters stared at him dumbstruck before charging.

He dodged and they turned quickly, one directly into his fist. The man crumpled and the other hesitated before blindly waving a knife at John, who grabbed his arm and bit into it, releasing a sleep chemical.

John lowered the unconscious man to the ground and removed his fangs from his arm. There was a buzzing John could not place until he saw a small ear piece in one of the men’s ears. He picked it up and heard some one say, “Well that was very educational. Thank you Doctor Watson.” before dropping it.

He turned to see Sherlock standing in the spot he had found him. “Wisdom teeth.” The detective said in a quite voice before walking out of the flat. Feeling sick John stared after him, lunch plans forgotten.

 

After calling Lestrade to take the hunters away John sat in his chair. Sherlock would want him out, no one wants a vampire around. The thought they could be together was a day dream.

John did not seem to notice the hell hound as he entered the flat with a few officers. Lestrade gave the order to have the hunters cuffed even though they were still out cold and watched as they were carried out of the flat. Once the officers were out of sight the DI’s face betrayed his worry. He stood in front of the vampire, who’s eyes seemed glazed over.

He let out a small whine of concern and waved his hand in front of John’s eyes. Lestrade knew that vampires were prone to lengthy and realistic flash backs. He glanced around before closing and locking the door to the flat. He pulled the shades shut and hesitated before changing.

His is shoulder broadened, and fur grew rapidly from every inch of his skin. A second later where the Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard had been was monstrous grey dog, his head over six feet from the ground. He carefully picked his way across the room to lay at John’s feet. The hound looked up at the soulless being, content to watch over him until he returned to the present. Or until Sherlock came back.

John was lost in his memories, back in a time when he had been human.


	5. London, April 16, 1724

It was a dreary day, and John was in a rather dreary mood. He was sitting in the shadowed alley between abandoned buildings with his medicine bag on his lap, absently fiddling with its worn handle. It was his only possession, what had once been a simple satchel was now a suitcase and pillow. He remembered his father’s look of pride all those years ago when he had first gotten the bag. Think about his parents made him even more morose.

His thoughts were interrupted by a small cry. John looked up to see a woman about his age sprawled in the road. She was wealthy by the look of her garments, and he hesitated before getting up and walking toward her.

“I am a doctor.” John said awkwardly, aware that his grimy appears might be upsetting, “Can I help you?”

“Please,” the girl said clutching her ankle. She must have caught her foot on the uneven cobble stones.

John knelt down next to her and she pulled up her dress enough for him to examine it. He gently placed a hand on her ankle which had already began to swell. John hastily pulled off her shoe and sock and the girl sucked in her breath, tears in the corners of her eyes.

“What is your name?” He asked to distract her.

“Mary,” she said in a small voice.

“Hello Mary, I am John.” John said opening his bag and shuffling through it. He had run out of bandages earlier that month, and he pulled out one of his cleaner shirts and ripped it.

Mary’s face changed suddenly, “Do you live on the street?”

“Yes.” John replied to this rather blunt question as he began wrapping her ankle.

Mary watched him thoughtfully twisting a finger in her hair. Slightly distracted by the action John glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as he worked and noticed there were flowers among the blond strands. He absently thought of the girls he knew who liked to decorate their hair with flowers, remembering how after they used one or two they would fall out. This girl had at least twenty among her curls.

Satisfied with his work he stood up she asked, “Now what?”

“Now we find some one to take you home.”

There was a strange gleam in her eye, “You're some one.”

“Yeah, but how would you look walking with some one who lives on the street.” John said with a hint of impertinence as he looked around.

“I insist.”

 

John stared at the door that had just shut in front of him. It was not a servant door, but the proper door of a manor house. He walked down the path thinking hard. Mary had just asked him to go to a dance with her. When he had reminded her that he was poor in an attempt to have her see reason she brushed it off saying she would get him something to wear. He had agreed in the end, and she had looked delighted.

Still puzzled by the situation he decided to talk to Mercy about it. Mercy was a friend of his, well, the closest thing he had to a friend. She lived in the cellar of the most oblivious shopkeeper John had ever met.

 

When John reached the store he knelt down and tapped on the basement window. A second later it slid open to reveal Mercy's grinning face. “Want a glass?” she asked holding up a bottle of mead.

“No, and don’t you drink yet, I have something to tell you.” she put down her glass and John continued, “I just got invited to a masquerade.”

To John’s astonishment his friend did not look surprised, just confused. “You're joking, I just got invited too.”

“Isn't this a little weird?”

Mercy shrugged and her face cleared, “It is free food. Free, good food.”

John sighed, “What is it with you and food? And don’t they eat small things?”

“It will make it easier to sneak them out.” there was a yell from the shop and the basement door opened. “Gotta go.”

She disappeared leaving John alone with his suspicion.

 

A few days later John knocked on the servant’s entrance of Mary’s house. A nervous looking girl open the door and lead him to a small bathroom near the kitchen. Inside was an old but nice suit with a low collared shirt. He tried to wash up a bit with the sink and a rag before putting it on.

He walked out of the bathroom holding his bag and sat on a chair. The nervous maid was watching him as she stirred a bowel of sauce. At last she broke her silence, “Don’t go.”

“Why not?” He asked and she put a finger to her lips.

“There are people there that want men and woman off the street. The fanged men....” As she spoke she made less and less sense, and she fell silent as Mary walked in.

Mary looked radiant, and John felt the urge to adverted his gaze. “John you look great, lets get out to the carriage.”

 

In the carriage there were a few other girls. He noticed they all had some sort of vegetation woven into their hair, and seemed to have shabby dates that were dressed in outfits similar to his own. There was a strange tension between everyone. Some of the girls were chatting awkwardly with their dates, but other seemed fine with ignoring them. 

Mary noticed John looking around and cleared her throat. “Every one, this is John. He saved my life.”

There was a murmur from the girls and they eagerly listened to Mary’s rather embellished story for an excuse to ignore their dates. It somehow lasted the entire ride, and she had just finished explaining how John beat off three armed men when the carriage halted in front of the hall.

John looked around as the entered the hall, lead by Mary. He was slightly overwhelmed by the decorations and large amount of people. He noticed several other poor people, not just males, with wealthy partners 

Before he could get a proper look Mary dragged him onto the dance floor. He tried to dance, but he was not very good. Mary would flinch every few minutes as he would step on her feet. Guiltily he looked at the wild flowers arranged so well in her hair that they seemed to grow from it to avoid her eyes.

After a particular hard turn he accidentally kicked her sensitive ankle and jumped back, causing him to collide with some one behind him. He turned quickly to see a tall man who bowed courteously and murmured something in French.

Mary saw John’s look of confusion and quickly said, “He says he is sorry.”

The man looked up still in his bow, “Quoi? Oh, you are English. Pardon me, I did not mean to cause distress, I simply wanted to ask for a dance.”

Mary looked relieved and John dropped her hand quickly and said, “Yes, of course.” She deserved this elegant wealthy man, not some klutz who lived on the street.

“Merci,” he said, and to John’s great surprise took his hand.

John glanced around, this was scandalous behavior, but no one seemed to care. Among the see of dancers he recognized some of the other men from the carriage ride dancing with both men and woman, but not their dates. He thought he saw Mercy in the distance but before he could get a good look at the hair poking out from the mask his dance partner blocked his view.

“What is your profession?” the man asked over the loud music.

“I am a doctor,” John replied.

“A man of medicine, that is a noble occupation” his voice was relaxing John.

“I wish more people thought the way you did,” John said, a bitter hint in his voice.

“Lots do, you just need to find them.”

 

Several songs later John was still with the man. His partner suddenly let go of his hands and pulled off his mask to reveal a beautiful face. The music was quiet and the man leaned down so he could whisper in John’s ear, “You are quite a dancer.”

“No you must be rubbing off on me-” John stopped talking as the man lowered his face from his ear and began nuzzling his neck.

“Your earlier performance was was a reflection of your partners abilities not your own,” the man murmured, “some people can only preform when they are with the right counter part.”

John felt the mans lips press on his neck and swallowed, his pulse roaring in his ears.

“What am I doing,” the man purred, “I do not even know your name.” He gently removed John’s masked and John paled, if some one recognized him in this situation....

The man put his cool forehead against his and looked down into his eyes. John felt calm spread through him and sighed, inexplicably content.

“What is your name?”

“John....John Watson.”

The man smiled and returned to his neck, “Doctor Watson” he said in his silk voice.

They were near a tapestry and he pulled John behind it. His hands left John’s and slid down his body, and he began on his neck again.

John knew he should move, stop the man, if they were caught they would both be killed. But it did feel amazing, he felt like he would melt through the wall. Suddenly there was a prick of pain on his neck and John let out a little, “Ow.”

The man lifted his head, and startlingly his eyes were all black. Before John could act on his fear the man whispered, “Il n'y petit homme, I am sorry” and gently kissed John's face before going back to his neck.

The kiss on his neck was getting steadily more painful, but John did not mind. The man’s continued murmurs in french calmed him, and it did not feel bad. However with the new levels of pain he found it hard to stay quiet.

At last the man moved his lips and the pain was replaced with a faint stinging. “Amazing,” the man panted, “oh I want to keep you Mr. Watson.” He caught his breath and urgently whispered, “Come with me, quickly, quietly.”

John nodded, too lightheaded to speak, and the man rushed out from behind the tapestry holding his hand and looking around nervously at the dancers. He snuck out of the hall and down a corridor, stopping in front of a candle bracket on the wall. He pulled it and the wall shifted revealing a door.

He pushed John inside and said, “Wait here for me, I will return at the end of the dance, do not open this door for anyone else.

“How will I know it is you?” John asked breathlessly.

“You will know.” the man almost left before turning and grabbing John, kissing him so savagely his teeth scraped his gums so they bled. “Only let me in,” he growled possessively before disappearing.

John locked the door and sat down on a couch. As he sat there his cheerfulness seems to fade, and his neck began to ache. Spotting a mirror across the room he got up and looked at the source of pain and saw to red scabs.

As he stared at the marks he started to feel a sense of unease. He did not know anything about that man, yet he had told him everything about himself. He remembered the way he had looked at him and shuddered, he had had the wrong sort of hunger in his eyes.

He made to walk back to the couch when he heard voices outside, “Where is Aldric’s first catch?”

John froze as a man replied, “Already with the the others.”

The woman spoke again. “Not the bearded one, the blond. One of the fairies brought him.”

“Oh that one. I mean, I never saw him with a blond.” The man said guiltily.

“What do you know?”

“He will kill me.”

“So will I.” The woman said dangerously.

“He wants to claim him, he said to leave it.”

“Well it is a bad day for Al!”

John suddenly felt the urge to hide and looked around the room.

“There is no point looking for him, this place is over run with humans.” the man protested, and John noted with panic that they were getting closer.

“Aye, but not all of them were getting special attention from Aldric. Here we go.”

There was a crash as the door splintered and a man and woman burst in. The woman rushed at John and gripped his arm. He tried to fight her off but he had little effect. She spun him around to look at his neck, “The bastard fed off him!”

John glanced at the mirror trying to keep an eye on his attackers, but could not see them in the glass.

The woman's words got his attention again. “We will change him any way, if it works we will have achieved out goal, if not we will have taught Al a lesson.” And swiftly bit down on his neck over the scabs. Before he could shout he lost consciousness.

 

With a groan John sat up and rubbed his eyes. He could hear crying and soft swearing. Once his eyes got accustom to the darkness he found the source of the sobs.

There were several men curled around a young woman who was trying to comfort them as tears streamed down their faces. There were others scattered through out the room and... “Mercy?”

Mercy stopped swearing and let out a bitter laugh, “You were right to have been suspicious.”

Before John could reply the door opened and a few men came in and dragged out one of the people.

“What is going on?”

“You would not believe me if I told you.”

At this the other woman looked up, “Whats going on is a load of bleeding vampires have got us penned in this room.”

John suddenly remembered Mary’s maid. Well she wasn't crazy.

There was a commotion outside and the door burst in. It was the female vampire and a different man. “Aldric is coming back, grab the dark haired girl and the blond.”

The woman gently detached the men from her and calmly walked over to her detainer. The man got hold of John, who was to weak to protest. Mercy tried to stop the man, but after a swift kick to the chest fell.

 

They were taken to a room across the hall and were roughly tied to chairs. One of the men went over to the bound woman and smiled, two long fangs sticking out from under his lips. She stared at him coldly and raised an eyebrow. He hissed bearing his fangs and she sighed.

“Get on with it!” some one shouted and the vampire looking disappointed sat behind the woman. He tilted her head to the side and bit into her neck. John watched as she grew steadily paler, but otherwise appeared unfazed. Behind him two of the apparent vampires were arguing.

“We can not do him yet he is still weak.”

“We have no other choice.”

As John heard a chair being placed behind him the woman’s eyes fluttered shut and her head lolled. Her vampire rose and another stepped behind her with an odd looking vase. It was large, about the sized of an hog, and came to a sharp point on the bottom.

Some one was tilting John’s head to the side but he was too busy watching what was happening in front of him to care. The vase bearer leaned it against his shoulder and broke the tip off of the point. A dark liquid dripped from the still sharp bottom and he stabbed it into the girls shoulder.

Her eyes suddenly opened and she screamed startling John, who jumped and accidentally hit the jaw of the vamp leaning over him. Her eyes were wild, and she struggled mightily against her ropes as the liquid in the jar leaked into her wound.

John felt fangs enter his neck, and it was not long until he too was unconscious.

 

His veins were on fire. He heard screaming, and realized it was his own. He could not see anything, and all he could do was yell. The sensation seemed to last an eternity until a weight he did not even know was on his shoulder lifted. Panting he blinked and his vision cleared.

He stared at his wrists as unfamiliar hands unbound them. He looked around him and did not recognize any one. Come to think of it, he as not sure who he was either. Across from him a woman was rubbing her own arms, clearly having just been tied like him.

Loud foot steps approached the room and a man burst in, throwing off two others who tried to drag him back. From the shadow some one shouted, “Aldric, stay where you are!”

The man he took to be Aldric ignored the warning and strode towards him. Once he reached him Aldric stared at his neck and shoulder.

Fury filled the Aldric’s eyes. “No,” he drew a knife from his jacket and turned to the woman behind him and hissed, “You dared!”

The he started fighting with the captors and the dark haired girl jumped from her chair and grabbed him, whispering, “Lets get out of here.” As she dragged him to his feet and ran out the door.

It was dark out, and guided only by moonlight she practically carried him through the streets. They ran for an hour before collapsing under a weeping willow.

 

He woke up covered in leaves. A girl was sitting next to him reading something in her hand. “Who am I?”

She looked up, “I was about to ask you the same thing.” she held up the paper in her hands, “Apparently your name is John Watson.” John frowned and the woman continued, “Haven’t a clue what mine is though. The mad vampire woman said you were my brother. Well, something along the lines of “we are all brothers and sisters” so I reckon I am a Watson too. What should be my first name, till I remember?”

Overwhelmed John wondered how to answer that question. His wrists were raw and stung, and his shoulder ached. “I don’t know.” He rubbed his arms and noticed a label in the sleeves, ‘Harriet's Seams’, “How about Harry?”

“Harry. Harry Watson,” The girls said slowly, “Yes, I like that.”

 

They both agreed that they should lay low as long as possible. It was a good plan, but they grew ravenous throughout the day. John had gone a day without eating before, and could not understand. At last they agree to go to market at dusk to get food.

“I do not remember the market smelling this much before.” Harry muttered putting her hand over her nose.

“Yeah well we weren’t vampires before.” John murmured back, eyeing some people who were looking at them strangely. “I image we did not feel the urge to eat raw steak raw before.”

As Harry walked over to the butcher’s stand John looked around frowning. This place looked familiar. He hurried to where Harry stood and whispered excitedly in her ear, “I remember this place!”

The butcher handed over their purchase and Harry whispered, “And I remembered my name.”

Knowing the memory loss was not permanent John grinned. “What is it?”

Harry shook her head, “I would rather stick with Harry Watson.”

Before he could inquire further John got a whiff of some thing, well he did not know what, but he wanted it. “This way,” he said urgently to Harry, who nodded and followed him. The smell was coming from a dark alley. John knew it, and looked down to see a book of medicine on the ground. It was his, he thought, and he stowed it in his pocket before continuing after the scent.

At the end of the alley there were two shadowed figures. One seemed to be huddled over the other, as if holding him up. John suddenly identified the coppery scent that had lead him there. It was the smell of wounds and surgeries, amplified a thousand times by his nose.

Connecting the dots between the smell and what he could see John backed up and accidentally stepped on an old plank of wood, which snapped with an almighty crash. The crouched figure dropped the man and turned towards the source of the sound holding a lamp.

To John’s horror the scene was suddenly illuminated. On the ground was a man with a knife in his chest and a wound to the neck. Above him was Mercy, her eyes black and mouth...

 

The world seemed to move from under his feet. When the world became furry and very much alive John was not sure, but before he could ponder it he woke with a start.


	6. No More Secrets

Lestrade’s eyes flew open. He heard a cab door open out side and knew it was the detective. Cursing himself for falling asleep he stumbled to his feet before he had finished changing back into human form and hurried from the flat flinching as the door slammed shut behind him.

John was brought back to the present with a start just as Sherlock entered the flat. Remembering Baskerville he closed his eyes and waited for the shouting, the loathing, maybe even a stake through the heart. He felt like he had one anyway.

The vampire heard a creak as Sherlock sat opposite him in his leather chair. After the silence stretched for a few minutes he opened his eyes to see the detective with a expressionless face and steepled fingers. He looked at John for a long time. The vampire did not dare to speak.

“The question is, who told them.”

“What?!”

“Who told those men that a vampire lived here. Who would believe it. Probably who ever set up those cameras and is watching us now.” Sherlock jumped up and began to climb on the furniture.

John could not wait for it, “Aren't you going to scream? To cower? To tell me never to see you again and wear a writhe of garlic?”

Sherlock frowned at him, “Of course not, why would I do that?”

“Because I am a monster.” the vampire said bitterly.

“John,” Sherlock said hopping down from a desk and taking his cold hands, “I have no reason to fear you, we have lived together for so long I would think you would have acted before now if you meant to harm me. There is so much knowledge to be gained, do you think I am just going to throw it all away?”

John looked away from him. His value was that of a deformed heart.  
Sherlock must have read John’s body language because his face softened and he continued, “I know you, your character. With injured victims and even suspects you are nurturing and caring. Yesterday when faced by two aggressors with weapons you managed to take them down with out killing them. You are my friend, John Watson, and not many can say that.”

He felt so relieved, this was a better reaction than he could have hoped for. John felt tears in his eyes. He tried to look away, but he could not hide them from the detective. As he felt the man embrace him he realized he did not need to hide anymore.

Sherlock kissed the top of his head and whispered. “You are my boyfriend, and no one else can say that.”

 

The following days had lots of questions. Sherlock had insisted on watching John eat and ordered him a few bags of blood. He held a bag pensively and looked up at John, “Why haven’t I seen your fangs?”

“They are retractable,” John supplied eagerly, hoping his answers would get him the bag quicker, “When they are not in use my saliva heals the tissue over it.”

“Like Wolverine?” Sherlock asked. At John’s surprised look he continued, “After I left you I looked into all manner of mythical and mutated beings. I wanted to try and understand you, as illogical as you are.”

“Thanks, I think. And sort of, I guess.”

Sherlock tossed him the bag, “Are your fangs hollow? Do you drink through them or just pierce?”

Resisting the very tempting urge to drink from the bag the vampire replied, “They are hollow, and I can use them to drink if I want to. I can show you...”

“Yes, please.”

John bit into the bag as Sherlock hovered around him. It was strange, he had been avoiding eating in front of Sherlock for months and now he was being watched by the detective. Feeling slightly self conscious he almost held his hand over his mouth.

When he finished the bag he licked his lips, fangs still bared.

“Can I measure them?” the detective asked staring at them with something like awe.

John nodded and Sherlock disappeared down the hall. Before the detective returned John’s phone beeped. It was a text from Mike, “I have not heard from Irene in a while. Starting to get worried.”

John stuffed his phone into his pocket, not bothering to reply. He liked the siren even less now that he and Sherlock were in a relationship, and was not overly concerned for her.

 

The vampire was in the shower when there was loud banging on the door and Sherlock shouting something indiscernible.

“What?” John called back, but the detective’s response was no clearer than the first.

“Wait till I get out.” John shouted, sure that Sherlock was not above breaking the door in to talk. He listened and after a few seconds of silence figured Sherlock had listened to him.

 

John walked out of the bathroom in bathrobe and found Sherlock lighting a muffin on fire in the kitchen, “I thought we agreed the blowtorch was not allowed in the flat.”

“You proposed the ban,” Sherlock said coolly, “your argument was weak and I politely declined.”

“You set my favorite jumper on fire.”

“Details.” The detective said exasperatedly, “And earlier I was asking how old you were.”

John frowned, “I stopped keeping track. Well it is 2015, and I was changed in 1724. I was what, 32 or something at the time so, er...”

“Three hundred and twenty three.” Sherlock muttered as he pulled a scone out of a box next to him and ignited it.

Staring at the experiment and waiting for the fire alarms to go off John asked, “Has this got something to do with the arson case or are you just trying to scare the land lady?”

“Yes, I was not sure if the smoke lingering at the scene was that of a muffin or scone so I am seeing if the witness' story holds up. How did you get turned into a vampire?”

“At a party. It was an old tradition among monsters to host parties to keep peace between them. Some times, when a group wanted their population to grow guests were encouraged to bring along human company that would not be missed. These parties were always masquerades, to hide those who could not pass as human.” John said bitterly. “I was the guest of Mary Morstan, a fairy.”

Comprehension dawned in Sherlock’s face. “That is why you had issue with the masquerade.” he turned off the blow torch and laid it on the counter “So vampires and werewolves used these parties to increase their population?”

“No, people can not become werewolves, that was a myth spread to turn humans against them. Vampires, skin walkers, and wendigos were the ones benefiting from these parties. Some times demons if they needed vessels.”

“So vampires. Do you have any powers or weaknesses?”

John rubbed is neck, “Ah...well we have got a better senses of smell and hearing, as well as being close to invulnerable. We have incredibly life spans too, I am talking multiple millennium. Sadly we evolved out of night vision before I was changed.” the vampire paused trying to figure out a way to explain Charm. “There is also this thing mainly used to seduce victims called Charm. I have never used it because it is creepy as hell, at least for that purpose. I used it to calm people who were seriously injured when I did not have sedatives and did not want to bite them, but believe me when I say it was a last resort. As for weaknesses it is the classic garlic, iron, and steak to the heart.”

Sherlock frowned, “But you drink blood that contains iron.”

“Humans eat tuna with mercury and drink alcohol.” John shrugged, “They are dangerous in high quantities and I am sure if you consolidated either and impaled some one with it they would die.”

“Fair point.” Sherlock conceited, “Do I know any other monsters?”

John hesitated, “Yes.” The detective was looking at him expectantly, but he was not sure if it were better if they told him self.

“Is it Angelo? Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock smirked, “Is Anderson a zombie, it would explain his IQ.”

“No, none of those people.” John said, “But...” he trailed off as he noticed a small circle off glass above the stove. “Is that a camera?”

Sherlock got up from his chair and stood next to John, “Yes I think it is. It is not the people that were spying on us before though, that looks like one of my asshole brother’s.” the detective slid his hand under the collar of John bathrobe to rub his shoulder and wiggled his eyebrows. “Do you want to make him uncomfortable?”

John felt his face glow red and stumbled over his words, “I’d rather not, thanks.”

Sherlock chuckled before kissing his cheek and grabbing a chair to take down the camera.


	7. Meeting the Family

“She has not been home for months.” Mike’s anxious voice said from the phone.

John had gone out on a walk, leaving Lestrade at the mercy of Sherlock’s interrogation, when the cupid called him. He could not understand his concern for Irene.  
“She is a big girl, she is what, fifty? Sirens can take care of themselves.”

“But she did not mention that she would be going anywhere.”

“Irene probably saw one too many videos of the ocean. It is not easy for her kind to live in the city, she probably went home.” John replied glancing at his watch.

“Maybe you are right.” Mike omitted, “Well I have got to get back to work.”

The vampire had just replaced his phone in his pocket when he noticed a black car park about a hundred feet ahead of him. It was not particularly interesting, but he could have sworn he had seen it earlier.

Just to be safe he decided to cross the street before it. As he hurried across the road the car pulled away from the curb. Feeling his fangs poke through his gum he began walking briskly hoping to blend in with the pedestrians. He pulled his phone out but before he could contact anyone he walked into a large man.

“Lets not make a scene now.” the stranger said as John noticed a black car a few feet away.

Seeing no alternative John nodded and man lead him to the car. He opened the door and bowed the vampire in.

 

The car ride was silent. The man that had stopped John on the street had taken his phone. Both he and the driver were human. John licked his lips nervously wondering what they wanted from him.

Eventually they dropped him off at the edge of an abandoned theme park where a man was standing. John did not recognize him, but he had a hunch. They walked through the rusting gate, the vampire following the man.

John decided to break the silence, “One of your boys has got lung cancer.”

“What talent you have doctor, being able to diagnose people from just being in their vicinity.” The stranger said twirling the umbrella he carried, “I was warned about you. When you first met my brother a colleague of mine told me to keep an eye on you. After the recent attack at your flat I felt I was justified in adding surveillance to your premises.”

“Bloody hell hound.” John muttered. So this was Mycroft, he had heard his boyfriend complain about him. Sherlock had accepted him, but that did not mean his brother did. John could smell iron on him, though if it was in the form of bullets or some sort of blade he was not sure.

“Pardon?” Mycroft asked raising an eyebrow.

It was not the first time John had had to talk his way out of a death sentence, but his adversaries had never had as much power as the man in front of him. The only way to work against him was to use something personal. “I have no reason to hold back. Your boyfriend, don’t deny it I can smell him all over you, is a hell hound. Thats what people being hunted by them call them. Their allies call them hounds of god. You are probably more familiar with the term werewolf. Regardless, he is just another monster like me.”

“What? Greg...” Mycroft took a second to compose himself before trying to change the subject, “Why is it that if we walked into that hall of mirrors I would be alone?”

“Surely you have heard my conversations with Sherlock?” John was sure his annoyance was apparent in his tone, “Don’t you have cameras in my flat? I do not feel like playing twenty questions.” 

Mycroft frowned and the vampire sighed, “I know you want to protect Sherlock, but I am not the one you are after. Some one is trying to kill your brother and I. Maybe you could direct your attention towards that?”

John was tired of the conversation. He wanted to go home, even if it meant Sherlock would grill him on everything hell hound. After a full minute of silence he started to walk towards the park exit. The vampire had almost made it out when he heard some one clear their throat.

“John?”

John turned around to see the elder Holmes brother fidgeting with his umbrella. “Can...is Gregory contagious?”

The man would not meet his eyes and John felt his frustration dissipate. It was not his fault, finding out monsters are real is not pleasant, “No.” He said in what he hoped was a kind voice, “You should have nothing to fear with Lestrade. If it makes you feel better you should know he threatened me when we first met.”

A smile flashed across Mycroft’s lips and John took it as a sign he could go.  
Once he reached the street he wondered if Mycroft would have actually killed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I know this chapter is a bit short, but that is because I am working on the exciting NSFW chapter that is coming up next! Do not worry if you do not like smut, I will be putting a clean version of the chapter on DevaintArt and will put a link in the chapter's description.


	8. Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-smut version of this chapter can be found here:http://dragonhaven42.deviantart.com/art/When-The-Improbable-Is-True-Chapter-8-543518663?ga_submit_new=10%253A1435820042

 

John was drinking from a bag of blood when Sherlock came into the kitchen. He looked nervous and hovered around like he was afraid to ask something. “There are whispers that a man named Moriarty is the one who hired monster hunters to come after us.” the detective said suddenly “It is likely he is the one who put up cameras in here before Mycroft’s. Heard of him?” 

John shook his head and Sherlock sat next to him toying with the salt shaker. “I don’t know what to do.” He laughed suddenly, “I can not exactly ask you out to dinner.”

“You could.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he put a hand over his throat.

“Not like that!” John said quickly, and was relieved as he heard Sherlock’s heart rate slow, “I can eat human food, it just doesn't do much. But if it gives me the excuse to go out with the most brilliant man in the UK I will.”

 

John and Sherlock returned to Baker Street dripping wet from a rain storm they had not been prepared for. They had been unable to hail a cab until they were soaked, then no cabs had wanted them. John walked blindly around the flat and pulled his phone from his pocket cursing. Then he began the uncomfortable business of peeling off his clothes. At least the rain had been warm, because despite his low body temperature he could still feel cold.

He had just thrown away his trousers, which landed on the floor with a splat, when he heard someone behind him. He looked around and saw Sherlock.

“Wrong room.”

John suddenly realized everything around him smelled like the detective. That was the last time he let his sub-conscious choose where he went. Embarrassed John hurried to get his clothes but Sherlock stepped in his way. “Stay.”

John nodded and Sherlock looked him up and down. “Whats this?” Sherlock asked walking over an putting a hand on the deep scar on John’s shoulder.

John swallowed feeling his pulse quicken, “In Afghanistan I did not get shot. I got attacked by a hunter.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up with curiosity, but instead of saying anything scientific he placed a kiss on the mar, his damp curls tickling the vampire's bare skin. He straightened up and smiled, “I'll be right back.”

John sat on the edge of Sherlock’s bed. He realized he was nervous. Three contents, twenty four species John Watson was nervous. His boxers were uncomfortable against his skin but he did not feel like taking them off. 

For all his partners in three hundred years Sherlock was different. There was something between them he had never felt before. The vampire licked his lips nervously and remembered how inexperienced the detective had been at kissing. Surely it meant he was also un experienced with sex...

Sherlock returned to the room distracting John from his train of thoughts. His pale skin seemed to glow, and was only covered by well fitting briefs. He slid under the covers next to John and said “Come here, we can keep each other warm.” lifting the blanket.

“I think you have forgotten who I am.” John replied and Sherlock gave him a frustrated look. Grinning John joined him. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s neck and kissed him. John could feel the detective’s body trembling as Sherlock tried to press himself against his chest, but the human’s body refused, like two negative charges being forced together. 

So his cold skin was making the detective hesitant. John took the initiative and quickly rolled himself on top of Sherlock, kissing him deeply. Sherlock’s eyes went dark and he was shaking below John, wanting to be freed and at the same time wanting to stay. 

Sherlock’s rapid heartbeat was loud in John’s ears. He put his hands in Sherlock’s dark curls and wrapped his legs under Sherlock’s, forcing their groins together. 

He was panting now, kissing Sherlock’s neck and shoulder. The detective wriggled under him and he tightened his leg’s grip. 

“Good?” John asked breathy, breaking the kiss. 

The detective nodded and the vampire shifted to kiss his jaw. John ran his tongue over the little bumps that covered Sherlock’s skin. The stink of arousal surrounded him and his pupils dilated. His most primal instincts whispered to him and he felt his fangs slide out and press on Sherlock’s skin.

Suddenly John repelled off Sherlock and knelt panting at the end of the bed. 

Sherlock was lying in front of him shaking, eyes lidded and erection poking through his boxers. “John?” he asked in a faint voice.

“I can’t do it.” John said swallowing and wishing his fangs would retract. He got up and walked to the window and opened it to get a breath of fresh air. He closed it quickly, he did not want to attract company. 

“John?” Sherlock asked, his voice a little steadier now.

John turned his back to him. That had never happened before, he had never lost control like that. “I almost bit you, and I know you don’t want me to. I am sorry.” he muttered before walking out the door and up to his room.

 

John woke up the next morning and immediately wished he was still asleep. He felt ashamed remembering what happened the night before. He walked down stairs, nervously looking for Sherlock. The detective was nowhere to be seen, but he could hear his gentle snores. John rummaged through the fridge and grabbed a bag of blood before sitting down to eat. 

As he was drinking he became aware someone was smelling his hair.

“WhAT THE FUCK?!” He shouted jumping from his chair. 

He turned to see a young woman clutching her nose, “Ow.”

“Harry? What the hell are you doing in my flat?” John could hardly believe he was seeing his sister, she looked so different. Her curly hair was dyed purple and the right side of her head had a buzz cut.

“I thought I would pop by, I was in the neighbor hood. It is good to see you little bro.” She said picking up his arm and sniffing it. He swatted her away.

“It has been ninety years, and don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am fifteen years older than you.”

“Yeah, well I have been a vampire longer. Only by a few seconds, but still. It is not my fault you are stuck looking like an old man.”

John groaned and asked, “So how did you find my house?”

She shrugged and sat in his vacated chair, “The east wind brought your sent to me. Well, both of yours.” she picked up the blood bag and took a sip, “So did you claim him?”

John blushed, “No.”

“Shame. Mind if I do?”

“He isn’t your type.”

“True, but he smells really good. I already have someone anyway. A cute little Greek girl.” Harry smiled running her free hand through her hair. As she did John noticed something on her wrist.

"You didn't."

"What this?" She asked turning her arm so he could see the simple bat tattoo on her wrist.

"You do realize that will literally be there forever."

"Wondering if I will hate it in a hundred years? Two words, laser removal." She finished the bag and tossed it aside before getting up. “Well I am off.”

“What?”

“Places to go, people to see.”

“You turned up after 90 years just to ask me if I claimed a mortal?”

“Yep. I must say, you are acting rather rude for some one who did not even bother to contact me.”

“You gave me a pigeon in 1925 that you said could find you. It died a week later.”

“Excuses, excuses.” She said walking to the door, “Go get some more sleep old man.”

John listened to her heavy foot steps clunk down the stairs. He knew he should go after her, try to make her talk. But there was some immature sibling unspoken rule that seemed to be preventing him. As he heard the door to the street open he rushed down the stairs in time to see it swing shut. John looked out the door, but it was as if she had vanished. Walking back up the stairs to his flat John suddenly realised how gross he felt and took a shower. 

 

When he got out he found Sherlock making tea, “I heard you talking to someone.”

“It was just my sister.” John replied trying to access the detective's tone.

Sherlock poured two cups of tea as John sat down at the table. “What would have happened if you bit me last night?”

“I would have claimed you.”

Sherlock sat down across from him and passed him a cup, ”Why didn’t you?”

“Because you did not want me to.”

“What if I changed my mind.”

“We would need to talk first Sherlock.”

“We are talking now, aren't we?”

John bit his lip, “There are generally three types of bites; feeding, claiming, and turning. Feeding is obvious and the most known, how ever none should be done without serious consideration.”

“I am listening.”

John took a sip of tea to delay responding. “If I were to claim you any magical creatures and some humans would know you belonged to me. It is a primal adaptation used to lay claim on humans, not unlike how farmers brand cattle. We developed it in the dark ages. Some vamps still use it this way, but for most it has changed into something not necessarily sexual, but intimate. But it has a catch. If the vamp dies their humans die too. A little incentive for the victims not to alert hunters or turn on their masters. Times have changed, now it is a risk we take with the ones we love.”

“What if the human dies?” Sherlock inquired attentively.

“For some it is a minor inconvenience. For those who loved the human and allowed the claim to form an emotional bond, existence becomes hell.”

“So you need to change me.” Sherlock said evenly.

“What?!”

“It is a perfectly logical course of action. If I am a vampire too then neither of us will be without the other, and any dangers of a claim become obsolete.”

John took a deep breath, momentarily hearing his screams from 1724, “No. No vampire that loves a human would change them. The process is painful.” Mercy’s blood stained face appeared in his mind, “and you do not stay yourself. In the end they are not the person they were human.”


	9. Meeting Moriarty

Things were tense at 221b. Sherlock wanted to continue discussing the practicality of John changing him, but the vampire was always quick to change the subject. They were watching a movie when the argument began again. To John’s relief Sherlock’s phone rang a few minutes in with a call from Lestrade asking them to come to a crime scene.

 

Lestrade was leading them through the halls of an apartment building talking to John, “I think some of the cases I could not get Sherlock to look at were linked. The abduction cases and some of the murders.”

“I did look at them and they weren’t.” the detective interrupted, “The victims were of different ages, races, religion, and social class. There were no connections.”

“None you would recognize.” Lestrade said as they reached an apartment roped off by police tape

John was hit by the stench of goat before he walked through the door, and it was so strong he was sure Sherlock could smell it too. Sure enough the detective’s nose wrinkled as he looked around. “There are course animal hairs throughout the flat, suggesting the man who lived here worked at a barn. The are in the couch, his bed everywhere.” He knelt down and picked one up, “The hairs are clean, which suggests he takes better care of the animals' hygiene than his own, because he allows this much to remain in his flat.” Sherlock strode to the fridge, “He is a vegan, not uncommon among people who work close with animals, and is fond of drink. How ever he does not own any wine gla-”

He stopped talking suddenly when he noticed the vampire and hell hound exchanging amused looks, “What?”

“He did not work with animals, he was a teacher.” Lestrade supplied, “I actually wanted John’s insight on this case.”

“It is incredible how you deduced and rationalize what you see, but you are dead wrong,” John said smiling, “Well, he was a vegan. He wasn’t a human, Sherlock, he was a satyr.”

“Oh.” Sherlock said and he seemed to shrink a little. “And I take it the cases you believed are linked are linked because they concern monsters.”

Lestrade nodded and something clicked in John’s mind, “Mike was telling me the other day that Irene Adler went missing!”

Sherlock looked lost, “Mike and Irene are monsters too?”

“Yeah, a cupid and siren.”

Sherlock pouted, and John was sure he was upset he could not deduce things. He had started educating Sherlock on monsters and which were real, but they were not very far.

 

They were walking home when John’s phone rang. Sure it was Lestrade with more details on the satyr's disappearance he picked it up with out checking the caller ID. “Yeah?”

A sing-song giggling voice asked, “Did you loose something, Doctor Watson?” before hanging up. John stared at his phone uneasily, he was sure he recognized that voice.

“Who was it?”

“Just a prank call,” John muttered shoving the phone back into his pocket.

 

When he arrived home he could tell something was wrong. It was was not like when he had found the hunters, the flat was in perfect condition. John cautiously entered it, and Sherlock tilted his head to ask what was wrong. The vampire frowned and shook his head before rounding the corner into the kitchen. He froze in the door way staring at something and barely felt the detective collide with him, nor the man catching his falling form as he fainted.

 

When John regained consciousness he found Sherlock hovering over him.  
He dreaded looking up, half hoping he had imagined it. Eventually when the vampire turned his head he saw that note attached to the wall with a fang was real. Not bothering to read at the paper he yanked the fang out of the wall and smelled it before charging out of the flat. Sherlock grabbed the note before perusing him.

 

For the first time ever it was the detective who was falling behind. John ran down alleys and across bridges following the scent of his sister, clutching her fang so hard his palm was damp with his own blood. It lead him to an abandoned factory with its doors thrown open. It was obviously a trap but John did not care.

On the floor was Harry. She was chained by her wrists and ankles, and as they got closer they could see she was hyperventilating. The bonds must have been made of iron, because the skin around it was covered in angry red burns. The woman’s head was bowed and eyes closed, her face tear stained.

John was shaking with fury. Any metal could have held her, but iron was the only one that could burn. He was so angry he barely flinched when the doors they had entered through slammed shut. 

At the noise Harry looked up, eyes wild. She hissed, baring her single fang at something behind John. The vampire turned to see a man with his hand resting on the side of a massive black dog, one of the largest hell hounds he had ever seen.

“So glad you two could make it. If you do not do as I say Sebastian here will kill her.” The man said patting the dog, which growled. The stranger was well dressed and had his dark hair slicked back. After letting his threat resonate for a moment he smiled, his eyes sparkling with mania, “Not that letting her go will do much good, we took care of her human pet the other day. Death may be kinder.”

John was shaking with rage, “What do you want.” 

“I am a collector John. Ever since I was little I believed in magic. And I never stopped,” the man began pacing, “I was called insane, institutionalized. Now I have got monsters to prove it. I haven’t found a vampire I have like though, and I thought, why not make my own? Then I found Sherlock, who was perfect. A genius, an man who matched my intellect. Be a dear John, turn him for me.”

“And what if I say no?”

“Well, she will die, and then I will ask again. If you insist on nobility you will die. I am sure I could find any vamp to bite him, but I thought I would be nice. Bite him and I will let your sister go. I will keep you two together, I promise you will be comfortable. I don’t care what you two get up to, reading, fucking, golfing, what ever.”

John’s mind was racing, and the man he believed was Moriarty continued, “I do not think you two appreciate all the work I put in leading up to this day. Tracking down Aldric to learn about your past, finding some one to astrally project, hiring hunters, and providing offerings to Eurus. I must thank you John for moving in.” 

Sherlock walked up to John and spoke in a shaking voice, “It is alright John, do it.”

Fear was irradiating off Sherlock, the vampire could practically feel it. John shook his head and was suddenly grateful he had not claimed him, “No. Sherlock, I love you. This version of you. I would rather die than hurt you.”

“But I am not allowed to do the same? I can not live knowing I got you and your sister killed, waiting for some stranger to bite me.”

“This is all very sweet,” Moriarty drawled, “but could you hurry up?”

Sebastian started towards Harry. Suddenly a large streak of silver flashed past Sherlock and John. The hound tacked Seb, and John watched them fight, dumbfounded. 

“Thats Lestrade.” He informed Sherlock as they watched the dogs. Sebastian was younger and more fit, but it was clear the grey hound had more experience.

The clink of metal reminded John of his sister and he ran to her. He grabbed her chains, only to releasing them hissing in pain. Sherlock wanted to help, it was clear Harry was feral. John held her head so she could not bite Sherlock as he carefully untangled the chains she had wrapped around herself. However he could do nothing about the cuffs.

Over the sounds of fighting dogs, men could be heard yelling outside. John looked up and could not see Moriarty any where. He was scanning the room when yelp drew his attention in time for him to see Greg fall to the ground.

Seb growled at John, but the sound was cut off as the door was blown off is hinges. The hound turned towards the commotion to see a group of armed people being directed by Mycroft. Sebastian snarled and charged, and they opened fire. 

The black hell hound lay dead on the floor and Mycroft strode toward them, “Gregory told me you two...” His speech faltered as he saw the silver dog covered in blood, “is....is that him?”

John nodded as he restrained Harry so the woman approaching with bolt cutters could do her thing. Once she was freed John got a good grip on her bicep and lead her through the building followed by two of Mycroft’s people. He locked her in a dark bathroom and left them as guards before returning to the Holmes brothers. She needed time to cool down, and Lestrade needed urgent attention.

John found Mycroft with a hand on the dog’s greying muzzle and another holding his jacket on a cut over the hound’s eye. He looked up in desperation, “Heal him.”

“I will try.”

“No, you said your saliva had healing properties!”

“Look at his injuries! Broken bones, bruised muscles, and puncture wounds! My saliva’s medicinal effect is limited to topical healing!” at the outburst Mycroft looked defeated and John softened his voice, “Call an ambulance.” before gently opening the hound’s mouth. John searched along his gum until he found words inscribed in an ancient language. He read them aloud and Lestrade shrank back to human form.

 

When the EMTs arrived to attended to Lestrade John stole a shock blanket from the ambulance and ran to where his sister was hidden. He opened the door to find her bent over licking her wounds. Talking comfortingly he draped the blanket over her shoulder and checked her guns. He was happy to see she had sheathed her remaining fang and the place where her other one had once been seemed to have healed over.

A new layer of delicate skin had appeared at the sight of her injuries, but John was still cautious when he took her arm and lead her to the ambulance. Mycroft instructed that the ambulance drive to 221b before huddling over his boyfriend’s prone figure. John sat with a comforting but firm hand on Harry’s back and the detective sat next to him. 

“Moriarty is still out there.” Sherlock said after a few minutes of silence. “I searched the building, there is no evidence of how he escaped or where he went. Though I suppose due to the recent revelation of my ignorance, I could have missed something.” The detective sighed and glanced at Mycroft. “I grudgingly admit we will need to work with my brother on the case of Moriarty.”


	10. Recovery

The flat was transformed into a makeshift hospital. Harry got John’s room so she could have peace and darkness. John had moved into Sherlock's room, and Lestrade had the living room. 

 

A few days after acquiring their house guests a surprise delivery of medical equipment arrived at 221b. What John had was enough, but this stuff was top of the line. The next morning they found Mycroft passed out in a chair by the hound and John had to physically remove Sherlock from the room to prevent him form doing anything to his older brother. Upon awaking Mycroft insisted on learning how to tend to Lestrade’s wounds. 

 

Sherlock and John were passing through the living room on their way to check on Harry and found Lestrade and Mycroft holding hands. Sherlock made a wrenching sound and John shared a look with Lestrade as Mycroft opened his mouth.

“That was mature of you.”

“So what if it wasn’t? That was sickening.”

“You do realize you are sleeping with your boyfriend with us around.”

“Only in the literal sense. Once John and I did attem-”

“Thats enough.” John interrupted hastily dragging Sherlock up the stairs.

When they reached John’s room they found Harry sitting on a chair near the covered window. She clutched her cell phone in her hands and was scrolling through a text conversation. John knew it was a conversation between her and her girlfriend. She alternated in between looking at it and pictures on her phone. She only spoke when reading to herself.

Sherlock, as always, stood in the door way holding John’s supplies. John approached her with fresh bandages. He changed her wrappings, pausing to sniff each injury to check for infection. She did not even seem to notice he was there. Before he wrapped her final wrist he noticed that despite the damage to her skin he could still see her tattoo. 

Once the ink was covered he began brushing her thick hair, half expecting her to wince every time he snagged a knot, but knowing she would not. Eventually John had created what he believed was a braid. The vampire put a hand on her shoulder and sighed before making his way downstairs.

 

 

John and Sherlock had just gotten into bed for the night when the detective brought it up again. “We can not take this relationship any further if you do not change me or claim me.”

John’s face hardened instantly. “No.” All of the stress and lack of sleep seemed to come back to him and he stood up.

“We-”

“Do you see my sister? She has been like that for what, a month?” he asked testily, “Is that not enough to make your brilliant mind realize how stupid that would be? There is no way it could end well.”

“I-”

“I have been around for three hundred years Sherlock, don’t you try to challenge me!” John roared before stalking out of the room.

He walked past Lestrade and Mycroft, who had startled looks on their faces.

“John?” The hound asked uncertainly.

It was the first time he had spoken since the fight, and it clearly hurt him to do it. “You'll open your wound.” the vampire muttered before walking up stairs.

He walked into his room and sank to the floor next to Harry’s chair. Against his will tears started running down his face. It was too much, he was so tired. He looked up at his vacant eyed sister, “Why did you do it?” he put his head in his hands, “You knew she would die. Why would you bother?”

John felt a hand clumsily run through his hair, but it did not register until he heard a quite voice say, “Because I loved her.”

John’s head snapped up to Harry’s pale face, “Hey little bro.”

“Harry?”

She carefully slid off of her chair to join her on the floor, “I am a fucking wreak, huh?”

John did not know what to say to that and she sighed, “July 18, 2013.”

“What?”

“Julie and I were having the usual argument when there was an earth quake. After being together for nine years we finally had clarity. We realized we did not care about the what ifs. I only wished we could have figured it out sooner.”

“What?”

“You asked why and I told you. I can see you are going through the same thing.”

John shook his head, “It is different, we have a killer after us.”

“Yeah, I met him. If you are worried about, well, this happening to you,” she gestured at herself.

“I am not.” John denied, he was not that selfish. He was just worried for Sherlock.

“Well you would actually be safer if you bonded. Moriarty would not kill you because he wants Sherlock too bad, and for that reason Sherlock is safe too.”

“Oh.”

“One thing about us.” Harry said quietly, “After watching generations of humans being born and dying through out the years we began to think we are higher, more important.”

John made to protest but she spoke over him.

“And we forget we are basically human. We aren’t gods, we are just as imperfect as they are. I regret all those years I did not listen to Julie, and I know you will too. They have the greater risk, remember that. And if Sherlock is willing to take it, he is one hell of a guy.”

“But Sherlock does not even want me to feed off of him.”

“Apples and oranges,” Harry said wiping his face, “get some rest then go talk to him.”

 

John woke up being cradled by Harry. She stirred and he stood up before helping her to her feet. They walked down the stairs, Harry a few steps behind John and leaning heavily on the railing.

The lively conversation between the Holmes brothers died instantly when they noticed John in the doorway. Sherlock rose and walked to the kitchen. Harry took his seat as John make to follow his boyfriend.

“Listen,” John said running a hand through his hair, “I was talking to Harry.”

“Right.” Sherlock said cooly and John swallowed. Before the vampire could think of something to say the detective’s face fell and he mumbled, “You said it was ‘a risk we take with the ones we love.’ Am I not... do you think I am the wrong person?”

“No,” John said, horrified that Sherlock had been thinking this, “I was going to say I changed my mind.”

“You did.” Sherlock said tilting his head.

“Yes. I will never change you though.”

“Deal.”

“Can we wait until my sister moves out though? Other wise things might get awkward.” 

“Fine.” Sherlock groaned, but his grin betrayed his amusement.


	11. On the Case

As the residents of 221B recovered more cases of abductions were brought to their attention. Once Lestrade was strong enough to return to work he began collecting old files he thought might be connected to Moriarty. Each day the collection of articles and case files tacked to the living room wall grew, and the magnitude of the man’s operation became clear. 

 

“Richard Brooke!” Sherlock shout suddenly, waking the vampire from what had been a pleasant dream.

“What?” John asked blearily squinting at his boyfriend.

“It makes so much sense!” The detective said unhelpfully, “I can not believe I did not see it before!”

“See what?” John muttered, but Sherlock had jumped out of bed and rushed to the living room.

 

By the time John had convinced himself to get up and follow the detective Sherlock had managed to rouse the rest of the flat. However, the detective alone seemed to be awake. Harry was perched on a chair and seemed to be fighting to keep her eyes open. Lestrade was trying to conceal his frequent yawns, and the fact Mycroft had not fixed his bed head was evidence enough.

Not seeming to notice any of this Sherlock began to speak, “John, do you remember that arson case at Saint Jules?”

“What? Oh yeah. You never solved it ri-”

“That is not important.” Sherlock interrupted hastily, “What is important is what survived the flames, a misfiled letter from the mother of Richard Brooke. Richard would be the same age as Moriarty, and the letter detailed similar symptoms mentioned by him. Delusion. His mother concluded that treatment was doing more harm than good and that the family had simply decided to play along with him. They believed he was harmless and wanted him happy.”

“How exactly did they play along with him?” The hound asked, and before Sherlock could answer Mycroft cut in.

“The Brookes were a very politically involved family a while back. Old money.” The elder Holmes sighed, “They all died in a ship wreak in 2006 and their money vanished. There was an investigation, of course, but it came back a mess. The ship had been pummeled from the sides, crushed, them ripped in half. We had experts from all over the world analyze the wreckage, but of course if Moriarty had access to beings we did not know existed there is no way we could have solved the mystery.”

John looked to Lestrade, “What do you think?”

“Leviathan?” the hound shrugged.

“Sounds more like the Kraken.” Harry said mid-yawn. “Leviathan constrict.” She turned to the Holmes brothers, “Thats why the Kraken is usually the one in movies, she is much more exciting.”

The detective stared at her for a second before clearing his throat, “Any way, Graham wanted to know how they played along.”

“Unbelievable.” Lestrade sighed.

Ignoring the hound Sherlock continued, “The family probably funded him to work on his project, what ever it was. We need to find out what it is. We know Moriarty has monsters who joined him voluntarily and ones he threatened…” 

“You are hoping we know some one who can spy on him,” John said. “I am afraid Moriarty would recognize anyone I know if he has been watching us...wait there is one person.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled though his contacts. “Hey Mike.”

 

It had been decided that Mike would have a few weeks to complete his mission. There would be no contact between the the cupid during this time, they did not want to risk rousing suspicion. Near the end of their planned silence there was a case. Mycroft stayed at 221b with Harry who was still very weak and anxious so they could investigate.

 

Lestrade got into the driver seat of his car as John and Sherlock piled in the back. After driving in silence for a few minuted the hound asked, “Heard of the Buckleys?”

Sherlock nodded, “Large family, suddenly came to wealth in the early 2000s. They are mostly known for their work involving the homeless, because they provide them with such nice living quarters. Are you about to tell me they are monsters?”

“No, as far as I know they are human. But they have not been seen for a few days, missing appointments without a word. None of the children had been in school. Ah, here we are.”

John’s heart caught in his throat, he remembered this house. Lestrade got out of the car and Sherlock made to rise when John put a hand on his leg, “This is…was Mary’s house.”

“Are you going to be alright in there?” the detective asked, concern in his eyes. 

“I think so,” the vampire replied, but his voice betrayed his uncertainty. They got out and made their way up the drive. The lawn was randomly littered with statues of birds, squirrels, and and a rabbit. Sherlock printed up the steps to examine the door.

“The door was, well, the door knob and metal parts of the lock were melted away.” Sherlock said looking at the solidified silver puddle under the door. He pulled out his magnifying glass and looked at the place where the handle had been. “It was corroded with some sort of acid.”

Lestrade cautiously pushed the door open and entered first, followed by Sherlock and then John. Before they could find a light they tripped over something hard.

“They really like art.” Lestrade said pointing at the object. It was another carving, this time of a snarling dog.

The hound got to his feet and wandered down the hall and John stuck with Sherlock. The detective entered an office and asked, “Do you smell anything?”

John sniffed the air, “Rotting food, no people alive or dead.”

“Looks like this man was a smoking addict-” Sherlock noticed John giving him a look, “What, I quit! Any way he has been stress smoking more then usual recently, look at that ashtray. The more resent ash is clearly lower quality than the older ash, so it is likely his stress is over something financial. The yard and house have the image of a once grand appearance, but over the last month or so it has been allow to deteriorate.” he walked over to the file cabinet, “This draw was slammed shut and,” he puled out a file, “He was not meeting a certain quota. It seems he had a deal but did not hold up his end.”

And with that Sherlock walked out of the room. John followed behind him, not sure what the detective was looking for. What ever it was, he did not find it. He kept popping into random rooms only to walk out again seconds later. They turned a corner in the hall and faced a giant portrait of a young woman.

“Is that her?” Sherlock asked staring at the life like piece of art.

“Yeah.” John said in a low voice, and he felt the tips of his fangs poke through his gums. Her voice rang in his head, ‘Do you live on the street?’

He suddenly grabbed Sherlock’s arm. It made so much sense, “Sherlock, they ran a homeless shelter. They helped them find places to live, what if they were giving people to Moriarty?”

Sherlock’s eyes gleamed with understanding, “And so they did not meet their quota. He threatened them, threaten to...to...”

“Boys, you might want to see this.” Lestrade called from down the hall. He was in a large dinning room. As they entered the smell of old fish and buzz of flies assaulted them. Sitting around a large table were perfect life size statues of a family. Some of them had forks in their hands, and all were staring eerily in their direction.

One chair at the table had been over turned, and a few feet from it was the granite form of a girl, one hand over her face, the other clawed like it had been prised away.

Sherlock was looking at them in disbelief. Remembering the dog statue John swore and said, “Could he really have her on his side?”

Suddenly there was a scratching sound from a door. They exchanged looks before nodding and Sherlock went to open it. He slowly twisted the handle and opened it a crack when it burst open and something rushed past him and ran to the table. They stared as a good sized dragon walked around the table sniffing the statues.

“Uh...”

It climbed up on to the table scattering flies before curling up and whimpering.

“I think she was on their side.” Sherlock said with emphasis as he pointed out of the door. On the grass was a clean skeleton with strange bones around its skull.

“Well,” Lestrade said looking at the reptile, “What should we do with it? Do you think it will try to eat us too?”

 

They ended up deciding to come back and get it after dark when John got a text from Mike.

“Meet you at Baker Street in five.”

 

Mike walked into the flat minutes after they arrived and with out so much of a hello, “First off, you would have to be mad to try and break in.”

“Noted,” Sherlock said earning a glare, “Go on.”

“Well I put myself out there, mentioned I had heard of Moriarty and was interested in his way. Not long after I got an offer to come visit. He has a island. I saw things I believed extinct, John. Any way I saw the grounds and it was beautiful, like a place for monsters to live at ease. A utopia. But of course we all know know nothing could be that good. The sea around it boiled, Leviathan guarded the water with an army, no, battalion of mere-people. And the Kraken.”

“That explains the ship wreak,” Sherlock said to his brother, “feel free to tell the government the case has been solved.”

“Go on, Mike.” John prompted. 

“I found a kappa on board and he told me non compliants and prisoners were kept in the lower levels of this massive building at the center of the island. If any one started trouble or in anyway worked against Moriarty well...”

“But wasn’t he working against Moriarty by telling you this?” Sherlock interrupted. 

“He did not have much of a choice.” the cupid said darkly.

“Sherlock, Mike removed his arm.” John said, “I can explain later.”

The hound had been listening to this exchange with a troubled expression, “I don't know about this, John.”

Harry piped up, “Maybe I heard you wrong, but are you no longer on board with the plan?” Lestrade looked uncomfortable and she continued, “You saw what they did to me. They killed my girlfriend. You can not honestly let him keep people, you are a Hound of God!”

As Lestrade mumbled a response an idea came to John, “You said that prisoners and non compliants were kept on the lower levels of a building.”

“Yeah.”

“People who are not fond of Moriarty?”

“Could you blame them?”

“I imagine they are kept in blank cells, no windows, poor lighting?”

Lestrade shifted uncomfortably as Mike said, “Where are you going with this?”

“If we could release the prisoners we could take on Moriarty.”

“Right, after we casually walk past Moriarty’s friends.” The cupid said with a snort. 

“We won’t have to, luckily we have some one who can shadow travel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an explanation of shadow travel-http://riordan.wikia.com/wiki/Shadow_Travel


	12. If There is a Will

“I want to go.” Harry protested as they prepared for their journey. The flat was full of activity with Mike, Sherlock, Mycroft, Lestrade, and the vampires.

“We’ve been over this,” John sighed, “you are going to stay here with Mike and your pet.” The dragon, christened Fang, was locked in Harry’s room after tripping everyone at least once.

As Harry protested Lestrade sat awkwardly in at one end of the living room shifting his weight from paw to paw. In their minds they heard his fretful, “I haven’t done his in years, are you...”

“Yes.” Sherlock grunted as he pushed John’s armchair into the kitchen, ‘accidentally’ hitting his brother who was counting the bolt cutters on the table. There was a cry from Mycroft which made the vampires look up in alarm only to see him holding up a dented umbrella.

 

Eventually they managed to pack everything they needed and clear the living room of furniture. Once the had sun set they climbed onto Lestrade’s back. Mycroft first, then John and Sherlock.

“The light.” John said and Harry sulkily flipped the switch so that the only light was that from the faint bulb over the stove. It was almost a perfect gradient, the wall in front of them in complete darkness and the glow of lights behind them. John felt Lestrade tense under him and held onto Mycroft tighter, and he felt his boyfriend do the same. He could hear Sherlock’s panicked heart but before he could attempt to comfort him the hound charged at the wall.

 

Yawning Harry flicked the light switch again, she was alone with Mike. “Right,” she said her tone suddenly business like. “You coming?”

“What?”

“You don’t need to.” She said unhooking her back pack from the coat hanger and shuffling through it. He stared at her as she pulled out a knife and strapped it to her ankle.

“You arnt...how will you?”

She whistled and there was a crash from upstairs. Fang came bounding down the steps with a large piece of door stuck to her spikes. “I really need to teach her to open the door.” Harry mused before turning to the cupid, “I lost some one I cared very much about to Moriarty. She lost her family. If anything this is our right.”

“But you are suppose to stay here.” Mike said weakly.

“He has Irene. People who wanted to go said they were moving or going on vacation. She went vanished with out a word. Unless you want to add Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Lestrade to that list I suggest you get on.”


End file.
